


Those Who Don't Build Must Burn

by RK_Anon (Rochelle_Templer)



Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo fics [5]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands Bingo (Good Omens), M/M, a few swear words but nothing out of character for Crowley, and adding some more historical moments of my own, apparently the fandom has embraced Crowley and Aziraphale being at the Alexandria library fire, so I'm jumping on that bandwagon too, so a good dose of angst, with plenty of romantic fluff on the side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-20 08:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20671967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/RK_Anon
Summary: Fire was fortifying. Fire was destructive. Fire was both of these things which Aziraphale considered utterly fitting given how humans were also creatures of seemingly oppositional qualities.Still, despite millennia of teaching himself to be comfortable with the presence of fire, Aziraphale continued to be wary of it. For all the good it did, the fact remained that fire brought chaos into order. Fire consumed everything it touched.And right now, it was doing both of those things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place about a year after the Almostpocalypse. It also jumps around a bit in history which will make sense within the story.
> 
> This fic is also a prompt fill for the Ineffable Husbands Bingo project. The prompt was: destruction of books.
> 
> The title of this fic is a quote from Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.

_Kansas, Present Day_

Angels were repulsed by fire.

It was a revulsion that was woven into their beings. It was also the most likely reason why the Fallen were punished by fire.

However, there was the paradoxical decision to give many angels swords that were lit with holy flames. Then again, that might have just been a reminder to Her servants about what happened to those who strayed too far from Her Divine Will.

Even though he no longer carried his flaming sword, Aziraphale could not afford the luxury of allowing his innate disgust toward fire to take hold. He lived among humans and humans needed fire to exist. It warmed their bodies, cooked their food, and enabled them to forge the instruments they needed to build civilizations.

Fire was fortifying. Fire was destructive. Fire was both of these things which Aziraphale considered utterly fitting given how humans were also creatures of seemingly oppositional qualities.

Still, despite millennia of teaching himself to be comfortable with the presence of fire, Aziraphale continued to be wary of it. For all the good it did, the fact remained that fire brought chaos into order. Fire consumed everything it touched.

And right now, it was doing both of those things.

The angel shivered despite the sticky heat of the evening. The day had started innocently enough. He and Crowley were currently traveling in the United States, lazily exploring it. They had stopped in a city a few hundred miles away to take in the sights and while Crowley had been distracted by enormous ball of twine, Aziraphale had gotten a message.

Despite his self-imposed exile from Heaven, there were a few angels who chose to communicate with the Host’s most notorious rebel. A messenger angel had heard about trouble in a small town to the south of where he and Crowley were staying and wondered if Aziraphale would be willing to intervene.

It had meant sneaking off from the hotel where Crowley was currently taking a nap. Guilt had scratched at the door to his heart, but Aziraphale did his best to ignore it. If something went wrong, he did not want Crowley to be involved. He left Crowley a note reminding him to not unravel the giant ball of twine and promising to return as soon as he could.

Several angelic requests later, Aziraphale had arrived at a bus stop in the town in question. Everything looked peaceful on the surface, but he could already feel the miasma building. No wonder that messenger angel had asked for help.

The spark had been a protest that was staged in response to some changes in local ordinances that certain humans felt threatened their traditions. This wasn’t unusual at all. Every major social change tended to have this sort of push-back eventually.

However, the shouting soon grew louder, the gestures of protest became more animated. Indignation was shifting into anger and fear.

Aziraphale had tried to quell this tide. He sent out auras of love and forgiveness. When that didn’t work, he tried regret and guilt, even though it left him with a hollow feeling in his heart and a sour stomach. He tried talking to people who had a strong voice and a needed influence in the community in an attempt to spread calm and reason.

In the end though, it was a hopeless endeavor. He might have prevented the protests from becoming lethally violent, but the flame of violence would not be snuffed out completely. Rocks were used to smash windows. Paint was splashed onto buildings. Fists were thrown. Clubs were used against wood and flesh.

But for Aziraphale, the darkest moment came when torches had appeared in the crowd.

A splinter group of protesters had broken into the local school, an easy target as it was currently empty. Aziraphale had heard the sounds of glass breaking and wood splintering. He had hoped that they would limit themselves to some easily fixable vandalism and move on.

His blood became like ice when he saw people emerging from the building with stacks of books in their hands. The same people who were so eager to bring torches into the situation.

_‘No…. Please, no. Don’t do this. Not again.’_

The angel had dearly wanted to act, but could only watch what was inevitable at this point. The books were thrown into a pile with torches following them immediately afterward. The dampness of the grassy ground wasn’t enough to prevent the bonfire that soon sprang into life.

Thankfully, the humans had been careful enough to keep the fire controlled by starting it a good distance away from any buildings. But this demonstration of forethought was no comfort to Aziraphale as he watched more books get tossed into the flames.

_‘Why? Why do you do this?’_

_‘Why?’_

The angel was frozen in the shadows, unable to tear his eyes away from the fire as it went about its terrible work.

* * *

A few yards away, a silent figure in sunglasses watched the angel who was gazing at the fire.

Crowley had woken up alone, annoyed, but mostly concerned. He took to the road in his Bentley, following the trail of Aziraphale’s angelic presence which he had learned to hone in on long ago. He had also sensed another angel nearby, but was able to rule them out as a threat within moments.

He had known, of course, that Aziraphale had not completely abandoned his work on Earth as Heaven’s agent. It wasn’t something they talked about much, but Crowley had decided early on that he wasn’t going to press the issue. Instead, he would simply shadow the angel and make sure Aziraphale didn’t get into too much trouble.

Once he arrived at the town Aziraphale had snuck off to, Crowley immediately noticed the tension building in the air. He had tried sending out a flurry of temptations toward harmless activities like sleeping in, staying home from work, or going home to binge on their favorite TV shows.

Unfortunately, humans were not always so easily dissuaded from doing awful things once their minds were made up to do them. Waves of resentment and frustration swelled into destructive action which played out on the streets.

During this time, Crowley had made sure to keep a discreet distance from Aziraphale while the angel did his work. He did not, however, conceal the admiration he felt while watching Aziraphale. The angel was in top form, applying intelligence and care where other angels would have relied on the blunt forces of obedience and submission to accomplish their goals. Aziraphale had been both compassionate and fearless each time he put himself between humans and their darker impulses.

In fact, Crowley was convinced that the only reason why these skirmishes did not escalate into riots was because of the effort Aziraphale was putting into protecting the humans from themselves.

Sadly, Aziraphale hardly ever considered a half-victory to be any sort of victory at all. Especially when book burning was involved.

Crowley frowned. Even from this distance, he could see the anguished look on Aziraphale’s face and was certain that the angel was already making a list in his mind of all the ways that he had failed.

Just like he did that day in Alexandria.

* * *

_Alexandria, 48 BCE_

Crawly hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place.

Well, to be more accurate, he hadn’t wanted to come to Alexandria in general. Right now though, he was currently having a drink in one of the local taverns near the edge of the city which was far more agreeable to him.

He’d known about the human invention of alcohol for a while, but hadn’t gotten around to partaking until today. Now that he had discovered it, Crawly considered it an invention with possibilities. It had a pleasing effect on his corporal body, and he imagined that it could be a useful tool to encourage some minor temptations.

Crawly leaned back in his chair and surveyed the room. Demons didn’t need sustenance of any kind, but he usually made a point of eating and drinking to blend in with the humans. It was far easier to tempt people if they thought you were one of them. Thus, he decided to see if there were any opportunities for extra work.

It didn’t take long though, to be distracted by the side effects of the drink and his own gloomy mood.

He gulped down what was left in his cup and frowned, waving his hand for another drink. The way he saw it, there was no point for any of Hell’s agents to come to Alexandria. Caesar had already conquered it, and his troops were living in the occupied city. Consequently, there was plenty of low level evil brewing due to the anger and resentment just beneath the surface.

No, the real action would be in Rome. There were probably already conspirators plotting Caesar’s downfall who could be led into plenty of related temptations. Not to mention that a smug, complacent population was always far easier to sway than those who needed to be vigilant.

And yet, for some unfathomable reason, Hell had not only sent him to Alexandria, but Hastur as well. And for an even more mysterious reason, Hastur actually seemed pleased by this assignment. Well, as pleased as a Duke of Hell ever could be.

Crawly watched the server pour him a refill and then waved him away. His mood also wasn’t helped by the fact that he had spotted a certain angel wandering the streets last night. He was sure that Aziraphale knew that he was here as well by now. The two of them didn’t exactly hide themselves from each other.

Still, the angel had made no attempt to contact him, so Crawly decided to wait and see what happened. He didn’t want to get in Aziraphale’s way, but after the last confrontation he had had with Beelzebub, he wasn’t exactly eager to let Hell down again with his latest assignment either. Aziraphale being here for a potentially opposing reason could put a serious crimp in that plan.

Then again, maybe that was why Hell sent him here in the first place. Because they knew that he had had experience in dealing with Aziraphale. Maybe he was supposed to thwart…whatever it was Aziraphale was doing. Or maybe he was supposed to prevent Aziraphale from thwarting Hastur’s mission. Would that be thwarting a thwarting?

“Caesar’s thirst for power shall destroy us all,” one of the patrons said to the friend he was drinking with.

“I hear talk of those who tire of his interference. That there may be ships arriving with more than wares and news.”

Both men nodded their heads, and Crawly could see an opportunity, but he was too annoyed to take it. Just as he had thought, these humans didn’t need any additional tempting from him to spread negative feelings around the city. It had already bled into even the most casual social interactions.

Thus, he saw no reason to stop drinking until he needed to do…whatever it was he was supposed to be doing.

Besides, he was distracted by questions he couldn’t shake. Especially when he thought about his conversation with Hastur just before they both left for Alexandria. He’d asked Hastur what his mission was, but Hastur just smiled and projected a thought into his head.

** _“Just getting rid of a pest, Crawly. A pest that should have been taken care of long ago. You just wait for my instructions.”_ **

Crawly ground his jaw. It was bad enough when Lucifer or Beelzebub dumped their instructions or various demonic platitudes into his brain. It was even worse when a Duke of Hell decided to get cute and do some thought implantation of his own.

_‘So who is he getting rid of? Caesar? That doesn’t make sense. Caesar is the one doing Hell’s work for them these days. Unless…they think killing Caesar would create even more chaos and destruction.’ _

_‘But then why would Hastur refer to him as a pest? Granted, that’s what Hastur thinks of all humans, but he usually doesn’t single any one of them out for special attention unless they get in his way.’_

_‘And for that matter why come to Alexandria to do it? Shouldn’t we have gone to Rome? And why send a Duke of Hell just to kill a human in the first place?’_

Crawly finished his drink with a sigh. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. He might as well go out and find something else to do until he could get a better handle on….

Before he could carry that thought out any further, a pair of men burst into the tavern.

“Fire!”

“Caesar has set fire to the fleet! And the flames are spreading!”

The rest of the humans panicked and stampeded out into the streets. Crawly waited until the last of them were gone to follow them.

What he found when he walked out was pandemonium. The humans were dashing about, colliding with each other while the smoke and flames grew around them. A few of them were trying to do something, anything: put the fires out, find out where they were coming from. Anything.

But most of them were simply fleeing with no idea where to go.

Crawly frowned again. His wings were still out of sight, but they already twitching. Sticking around for such a devastating disaster wasn’t his thing if he could help it.

That is, aside from checking to see if he could cause some mischief by saving a few people who the Almighty clearly did not want rescued. It was always easy enough to explain these rescues as making sure that Heaven could never claim a complete victory via mass extermination. It had worked when he had had to explain what he was doing with all those kids he had saved from the Flood, and Hell never questioned him about it any time since then.

Crawly was about to see if there were some good candidates for saving in the swarming crowds when the aura of a demon approaching got his attention. He ducked back against a building that hadn’t caught fire yet and shifted into his snake form. For some reason, most demons didn’t notice him when hid in plain sight as a serpent.

He had just slithered behind a clay jar when he saw a pale, black-eyed figure shuffle by.

_‘That’s Hastur all right. And from the look of it, he’s getting ready to leave.’_

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Hastur stopped, looked around briefly, and then sank into the ground, leaving curls of smoke swirling upward. Just as he disappeared, another thought penetrated Crawly’s mind.

** _“Stay here until you know it’s done.”_ **

Crawly hissed. What the Heaven was Hastur playing at? He never told him what exactly it was that was supposed to be “done” in the first place.

He shifted back into his human-shaped form and weaved his way through the crowds, seeking out anything that was unusual in a situation like this. Anything that could give him a hint as to what it was that the Duke of Hell had done. Unfortunately, several minutes of searching had yielded nothing but frustration.

He was about to go back to looking for some people to escort out of Alexandria when a new thought came to his mind: what if the fire wasn’t Hastur’s doing after all? What if it was just a convenient coincidence?

Crawly froze in place, his demonic aura being enough compel the humans to avoid him even while panicking. Just burning the city was something Beelzebub would have sent a lesser demon to do. One even further down the ladder than Crawly was. It wasn’t an assignment for a Duke.

He wandered down the alleys, allowing his occult senses to guide him. It only took a few more minutes to finally spot something that was out of place: a building that was burning with flames that were far more intense than the ones in the rest of the city.

On the surface, it was just another building that was on fire. The flames acted much like they usually did. But Crawly had eyes that could see it for what it was: a blaze of Hellfire.

Hellfire that Hastur must have crafted.

He ran over to it. Most of the humans had disappeared from the area. Not surprising as Hellfire could still ignite the humans’ instinct for self-preservation even if they didn’t know what it was. Crawly squinted at it for a minute until he finally realized that this building had been the main library.

Crawly scowled. Certainly, Hell would always endorse the loss of accumulated knowledge. Ignorance was one of the most useful tools in the infernal arsenal. But just destroying one library, as impressive as it was for this part of the world, didn’t warrant more than one agent of Hell to oversee it.

He snapped his fingers, conjuring something into a pocket of his robe, and was about to walk away when a twinge ran down his spine. A twinge familiar and always oddly comforting. Like…like….

_‘Aziraphale!’_

Crawly rushed inside, the flames recoiling from him as he entered. Billows of smoke made it difficult to see, but he didn’t really need to. Not to find what he was looking for.

“Angel?! Where are you, you idiot? You’ve got to….”

He choked on the rest of his words when he finally found what he was looking for.

It was Aziraphale all right. The angel’s prone body was laying face first on the floor, a pile of scrolls scattered beneath him. A stone pillar was lying across his body, his wings trapped underneath.

Crawly ground his jaw. It was painfully obvious what had happened. Hastur’s skill with Hellfire had made this conflagration even more toxic than usual to an angel, shortening the amount of time Aziraphale could stand to be in close proximity to it. Then, the angel had probably dithered while trying to decide which books were precious enough to save first. That gave the flames enough time to do their work. The pillar falling onto him was probably just a bonus by that point.

This had to have been Hastur’s real purpose for being here. A Duke of Hell would be required to murder a principality, in spite of the possible repercussions for violating the informal treaty Heaven and Hell had in regards to their earthly representatives.

And now, Crawly was expected to stand by and watch Aziraphale perish in the flames.

Crawly’s hands curled into fists. _‘You…you stupid angel! Anyone else would have seen that this was a trap from a mile away. But no, not you. Not with your obsession with those blessed books.’_

The fists shook violently. Going against a Duke of Hell was an insane risk for any lower ranked demon. Like Crawly, for example. Besides, Aziraphale was an angel. The Opposition. Demons do **_not_** rescue angels. They cheer at their destruction. The smart thing to do would be to walk away and leave the angel to his fate.

A weak moan interrupted Crawly’s train of thought. “Angel?”

One of Aziraphale’s hands twitched and moved an inch from where it had lain before becoming still again. It was a miracle that the angel was still alive. Not that he would be for much longer. Not with those flames moving closer to one of his wings.

The same wing that Aziraphale had used to shelter him from the first rainfall in the Garden.

_‘…bless it!’_

A snarl erupted from Crawly’s throat as he pushed through the flames and lifted the pillar off Aziraphale, shoving it aside. Then he yanked the angel up from the ground. Aziraphale’s flesh was flushed, but he was also cold and clammy.

“Don’t you fucking die on me, angel,” Crawly said. “I’m not putting my ass on the line for nothing. Don’t…don’t you dare.”

Crawly wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, lifting him up and cradling him close to his chest. His wings swung out as he stared at the ceiling. The roof had several large holes in it, one of which looked just big enough to fly through.

He blinked his eyes several times, the smoke burning them. He had to hit that hole dead center. If even the edge of a flame touched Aziraphale, it would finish him. Crawly’s vision wobbled and swam, and he wondered how in Heaven’s name he could do it.

_‘No! I’m not going to fucking miss. I won’t! I won’t!’_

_‘I won’t!’_

A cloud of smoke enveloped him as he took flight, his path going straight into ink-black darkness. He held his breath, his heart pounding, and his arms aching. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Aziraphale’s.

_‘Hold on, angel.’_

When he finally dared to open his eyes, he was greeted by the light of the stars around him. He had cleared the building, and the flames were shrinking into the distance.

Thankfully, Aziraphale was still in one piece, untouched by the Hellfire. However, there was still the problem of the angel not moving.

Crawly hissed and sped off across the night sky. The humans were far too preoccupied with the burning of Alexandria to notice a demon flying overhead. He continued on until he spotted a large sycamore tree several miles away from the city. Confident that no one was around, Crawly lowered down for a landing and then carried Aziraphale over to the shelter of the branches.

He sat Aziraphale down onto the ground, resting his upper body up against the trunk of the tree. Then he knelt in front of the angel, grabbing his shoulders when Aziraphale began to slide downward.

“Come on, angel, wake up. Come on!”

Crawly shook Aziraphale hard, but got no response. He patted the angel’s hand, rubbed the back of his wrist, and shook his shoulders again. Nothing. Aziraphale’s features remained slack, his body boneless as he slumped over.

Crawly blinked hard. He was familiar with pain. He still had memories of the agony of his Fall. Then there had been the tortures he endured during his transformation to his current form of a demonic serpent and servant of Hell. Not to mention the occasional disciplines and “reminders” to keep him in line.

But the pain that was forming in his chest was new. It started as a dull ache that became sharper with each heartbeat. And it was centered around watching Aziraphale’s still body turn grey and cold. Then it spread outward to thoughts of never seeing the angel again. Of Aziraphale no longer being a part of his world.

Crawly clutched at his chest. Why did he have to feel like this? Why did he have to feel this…loss? Loss he never would have felt in the first place if he had been smart and not allowed affection he had for Aziraphale.

_‘Aziraphale….’_

He gently lowered Aziraphale to the ground, laying him on his back. Then he caressed one of the angel’s hands and then placed his other one against Aziraphale’s chest. He stared at Aziraphale for a moment before turning wet, angry eyes Heavenward.

_‘Save him!_’ his mind spat out, oddly certain that he would be heard_. ‘He’s one of yours. He was just trying to save some books. To stop these humans from destroying all that valuable knowledge. He doesn’t deserve to die for it.’_

Hot tears dribbled down Crawly’s cheeks. This wasn’t right. A demon shouldn’t be crying for an angel. Not that that did anything to dry his tears.

_‘You can’t let him die! You can’t!’_

The tears abruptly stopped, but his breaths were still rough and shaky. He choked out another sob and bowed his head, his eyes squeezing shut.

_‘Please. Please don’t do this. I…I….’_

A cough nearly made Crawly jump and his eyes shot open. At first, he couldn’t see much of anything due to the blurriness from unshed tears. But soon, his vision cleared and he could see Aziraphale moving and then coughing again.

Aziraphale was stirring, moving, breathing.

Alive.

Crawly swiped the rest of this moisture from his eyes away before taking Aziraphale by the arms and sitting him up again. Then he watched and tried to stop shaking while the angel continued to hack and struggle to take full breaths.

Finally, Aziraphale ran an unsteady hand over his face and blinked several times in Crawly’s direction.

“Crawly? Is that…?”

“Well who else would it be?” Crawly snapped. “You idiot! Just what were you trying to do in there anyway? Didn’t you realize that that was Hellfire? Don’t you know what Hellfire does to angels?”

Aziraphale’s face became downcast and he coughed again. “Yes, I know. It was very foolish of me to have lingered so long, but…I had to try. All those books, they were burning. I had to try to save some of them.”

The angel leaned forward, taking several rasping breaths before speaking again. “Was, was any of it saved?”

“Pretty sure it’s a total loss, angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes watered up while he shook his head. Meanwhile, Crawly glared at him and wanted to shake him again. Didn’t he realize that a Duke of Hell had just tried to assassinate him? That Hell had decided that it would rather have him dead rather than just inconveniently discorporated? And yet all he cared about was the loss of some ink and paper.

But maybe…maybe he didn’t realize. Maybe Aziraphale thought that the destruction of the library was just another example of Hell’s or the humans’ love for wanton destruction.

And if that was the case…Crawly wasn’t entire sure he wanted to disabuse him of that notion.

Suddenly, he felt a warm hand touch his forearm. Crawly looked over to see Aziraphale gazing at him with a weak, but fond smile.

“I should thank you. I owe you my life.”

Crawly gritted his teeth and turned his face away. “Ngk…don’t say that too loud. If Hell hears that I’ve rescued an angel….”

“Oh yes, quite right. I shall not say another word about it. Except…well…I am ever so grateful to you, Crawly. You are a very kind….”

Crawly hissed and leapt to his feet. He opened his wings back up and took off before Aziraphale could say another word.

He tried to tell himself that he did it solely because he didn’t want the angel to say something that could get them both in trouble. It certainly couldn’t have been because he was enjoying the feel of Aziraphale’s hand on his arm a little too much. Or because of the way Aziraphale looked at him, a demon, with happiness and so much tenderness.

And Crawly continued to convince himself that it was just self-preservation that made him run away even years later when the memories of the open, sincere affection Aziraphale had shown him filled what might have been his heart with warmth.

* * *

_Kansas, Later the same day_

Crowley swiped away a tear from his eye before it had a chance to fall.

It had taken all of his skill at deception and manipulation to explain away what had happened in Alexandria. Eventually, he was able to convince Beelzebub that he had really had acted in Hell’s best interest by making sure that they never knew about a possible break in their treaty with Heaven.

He had almost gotten away with it. At least, with Beelzebub and most of Hell, he did. Hastur, on the other hand, had made sure to “remind” Crowley about what happened to demons who disobeyed direct orders. 

Still, in spite the pain he endured for his decision to save the angel, Crowley treasured the memory of Aziraphale thanking him and the look in the angel’s eyes as he said it. But he also dreaded thinking about the rest of it: about the flames that had come so close to burning his angel or about the feeling of Aziraphale’s seemingly lifeless body in his arms.

It was these memories that had flooded his brain when he saw Aziraphale’s bookshop on fire just before the Notpocalypse. Hell wasn’t all that creative when it came to trying to eliminate someone. And it had been Hastur who had tried to kill Aziraphale the first time in Alexandria. It was completely plausible that he would have tried to use the same method again.

And Aziraphale would have been even more hesitant to abandon his personal collection of books. What would he be able to save? Just the prophecy books? The Oscar Wildes too? What about that copy of Blake’s poems that Crowley had given him as a present a few years ago?

When he marched into that burning bookshop, Crowley had fully expected to have to drag the angel away to safety again. He hadn’t expected to not be able to find Aziraphale at all. To discover that, this time, Hastur might have been successful.

Crowley shivered. It had been almost a year since that day, but it still haunted his dreams every once in a while. Much like the incident in Alexandria had. Fortunately, these days, he always had an angel lying next to him when he woke up, and Aziraphale would always hold him in his arms and wings until the nightmares faded into the background.

Right now though, it was time for Crowley to come to the rescue again.

He slithered through the crowd, making sure that no one noticed him until he arrived at the angel’s side. He hid his hand behind his back and snapped his fingers before nudging the angel’s arm. Aziraphale started slightly, but showed no other sign of surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, still staring at the fire. “I should have told what I was doing. I, I just….”

“You wanted to help,” Crowley murmured. He wasn’t going to begrudge the angel for that. Even though they had no official capacity with Heaven and Hell anymore, Crowley knew that Aziraphale wouldn’t completely discard his Divine Mission to spread Her love throughout the Earth and protect the humans however he could.

“That doesn’t justify my keeping things from you, my dear,” Aziraphale added, his voice even smaller. “I, I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I….”

“Shut up,” Crowley said with a sigh. He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get you away from here.”

The angel gaped at him. “But Crowley…these people…the books…I can’t….”

“Most of the mob has already left,” Crowley said. “This lot is just venting their frustrations. They’re not going to do anything else major.” He put his arm around Aziraphale’s waist. “Come on, angel. We’ve done everything we can do here. Time to let the humans sort the rest of this out themselves.”

Aziraphale nodded, but then he turned his face back toward the bonfire. All the books that had been brought out were in the flames by now. All that was left of them was broken, blackened spines and papery ash.

There was nothing left to save.

Aziraphale turned his back to the fire and let Crowley guide him back to the Bentley. The angel didn’t say another word, not even commenting on how Crowley was driving slowly to avoid the clumps of confused pedestrians that sometimes walked in front of the car.

Once they got out of town, Crowley reached over and took Aziraphale’s hand into his, placing it onto the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see tears welling up in Aziraphale’s eyes.

Crowley squeezed his hand, but kept his gaze on the road in front of him. He hated to see Aziraphale cry and wished he could do more than just be there next to him.

Then again…maybe there was something he could do.

“I got us a hotel room in the next city over,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “Let’s go there and order some room service.”

“Crowley, I, I don’t think I’m in the mood for….”

“Trust me, angel. We need to talk.”


	2. Chapter 2

“My dear…this looks like a honeymoon suite.”

Crowley chuckled and swept an arm out in front of him. “Of course it is. That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? I figure six thousand years of waiting warrants a yearlong honeymoon. At least.”

Aziraphale walked in, making sure to give Crowley a smirk along the way. “Incorrigible,” he muttered just loud enough to ensure that Crowley heard him.

Crowley laughed again. “That’s sort of a demon’s job, angel. Let’s order room service.”

The angel sighed and shook his head. His brief flash of humor had already faded. “I’m sorry, I’m really not all that hungry.”

“Who said anything about food? This place is supposed to have a really good wine cellar. And I plan on trying as many of their selections as possible before we leave.”

A few minutes later, Aziraphale was sitting on an overstuffed chair that was covered with navy-blue velour fabric. Crowley was lounging on his side on the bed while sipping at his current glass of wine.

They had gotten through a bottle and a half before Crowley finally got sick of the silent, pensive atmosphere.

“Look angel, I’m not upset, all right? You don’t answer to me like you had to with those bastards in Heaven.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked downward to gaze at the glass in his hands. “But you are upset.”

“Ok maybe a little. But that’s mainly because I’m still not great with you up and disappearing like that. Or your getting so close to fires.”

The demon gulped down what was left in his glass and sat up.

“But I also knew what I was getting into when I chose to be with you. I know what you’re like and I’ve accepted that. Sure, I’d rather you not hide things from me for safety’s sake. But I’m not going to get angry at you for being…well, you.”

Aziraphale lifted his head, his eyes misted over. “Sometimes, I wonder what you see in me.”

Crowley got up and knelt down at Aziraphale’s feet. Over the last year, he had finally learned that this wasn’t a question or a point of debate. It was an old wound that was still healing. It also wasn’t something that could be soothed away with words.

Instead, he rose up on his knees and put his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, leaning over so he could rest his upper body onto Aziraphale’s lap.

Aziraphale sat his glass down and bent forward, kissing the top of Crowley’s head and then running his fingers through the demon’s hair. Crowley closed his eyes and tightened his hold, communicating with his embrace what his mouth could not.

That this here, the sure knowledge that he was safe and loved in the arms of an angel was a gift that could never be taken for granted.

There was another light smooch on the head before Aziraphale leaned back in his chair. Crowley could hear the clink of glass on wood as Aziraphale retrieved his drink, the hand in his hair still curling strands around fingers.

“Another glass?” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley took a deep breath and nodded, embracing him one more time before getting to his feet and fetching the bottle.

“Looks like this will be it for the _La Rioja Alta_,” Crowley said as he filled Aziraphale’s glass. “How about the _Chateau Canon-La Gaffeliere_ next?”

Aziraphale mutely nodded as he sipped while Crowley opened another bottle from the tray of drinks that had been brought up. For a moment, he worried that this would be the beginning of another annoying stretch of silence. But then Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Why? Why did they do it?” Sadness was bleeding into his voice again, and Crowley wished he could stem the flow.

“Something to do,” he said, shrugging. “A way to prove that their voices are louder than the ones that came before.”

“But it’s such a waste!” the angel cried. He took a larger sip and then dropped his glass back onto the stand next to him, a few drops sloshing out onto the rim.

“No, it’s worse than that. It’s a tragedy. Because they’re not just books, Crowley. If they were only ink and paper and bindings, it wouldn’t matter all that much, would it? There’s always more of those materials to be had. But they are so much more than that.”

Crowley finished his current glass of wine and sank down to sit on the floor at the foot of the bed, his legs hitched up.

“These books are human lives poured out onto the pages,” Aziraphale continued. “Their hopes, their dreams, their clever ideas and their deepest follies. It’s their history, their legacy and it feeds their futures. They are the essence of the authors who gave away a part of their souls so others could have a little bit more from the world.”

Aziraphale paused and gasped. His eyes were glassy again, and his voice was taunt, like a rubber band that was pulled to its limit. He looked like he was about to say more, but instead he picked up his glass and finished what was in it with an uncharacteristic gulp.

Crowley was about to offer him more, but the angel surprised him by speaking again.

“I know it was not on the same terrible scale. But tonight, tonight reminded me of Germany. That horrible, horrible night.”

“1933, right?” Crowley said quietly. “Yeah, I remember.”

Aziraphale goggled at him. “You do?!”

Crowley let out a drawn out sigh and nodded as he refilled his glass. “I was in Berlin, and I saw you.” Suddenly, his lips curled downward. “And if you think I had anything to do with that….”

“No…no, I know you didn’t.” A small smile appeared on the angel’s lips. “For all your wily ways, you never tried to destroy books and never attacked storehouses of knowledge. Why would you? You were the one who tempted humans into the First Sin for the sake of knowledge.”

Crowley tensed, but then he saw the kindness in Aziraphale’s eyes and relaxed again. If Aziraphale wasn’t going to make an issue out of it, he wasn’t about to either.

“I, I am just surprised,” the angel said. “I didn’t realize that you were there. I don’t know how I missed you.”

Crowley took a long swallow of his drink and then leaned back against the bed. “I didn’t think you noticed me. You already had plenty on your mind.”

* * *

_Berlin, Germany, May, 1933_

Trouble was brewing. And this time, Crowley wondered if he was going to want to take credit for it.

He had heard vague comments about how certain humans wanted to advance the Third Reich’s cause with the public from the contacts he had at the Office of Press and Propaganda. Student organizations across the country were looking to make a statement that showed their loyalty to this new way of thinking, a declaration of a new path for the German people.

Crowley snapped his fingers and lit the cigarette he conjured up. People were gathering in the _Bebelplatz_. Probably for another speech, he figured. He’d heard that Goebbels was scheduled to speak at an event tonight. But there was also a sense of something else underneath, that tight cord of hysteria that tended to weave itself into human societies which clung a little too dearly to grandiose schemes of reform.

His suspicions were confirmed when the first batch of books appeared in a pile in the middle of the crowd.

The demon sighed and snuffed out what was left of his cigarette. He’d seen this before and imagined that he would see it again many times over. Humans often seemed to think that the only way to move toward the future was to destroy the past. Instead of seeing what had come before as a necessary stepping stone, it was treated like a millstone around society’s neck.

Crowley moved closer so he could hear Goebbels bellowing out at the thong of people who were enthusiastically receiving his poisonous words. Partially so he could add some details to the memo he planned to send to Beelzebub’s office.

Partially because he knew some people within the French and British governments who would be very interested in these developments.

Crowley sensed the first flame coming to life rather than see it with his eyes. It didn’t take long for the familiar flutters of black-grey ash to swirl up into the air. It never did. For all the weight books could hold in humans’ consciousnesses, they were fragile things in a physical sense.

Crowley sighed again. He could try to tempt some of this mob away from this and maybe even convince some of them to turn away from the Nazi rhetoric. But there was no stopping this event as a whole. The evil that had been festering for weeks had become an impenetrable murk.

Besides, any human who did try to oppose this attempt to erase any trace of dissent or impurity would have their loyalties questioned. People like that, the ones who could doubt the rightness of the Nazis, would be far more useful working in the shadows if Germany was going to have any chance of waking up from this nightmare.

Convinced that he had heard and seen enough, Crowley crept over to the edges of the crowd and stuffed a couple of things into his pocket. He was about to walk away when a familiar feeling, one he hadn’t felt close to him for many, many years, reached his senses.

For a second, Crowley considered running instead of walking to get away. Then he spotted the curls of white-blond hair he knew would be in the crowd. Unable to tear his eyes away, Crowley moved off to the side, still in the shadows, but now with an unobstructed view of the angel who was standing in the front row of the swarm of people gathered around the bonfire.

Crowley swallowed hard. Even with the ugliness of the scene around him, Aziraphale’s face was beautiful in the flickers from the flames. His features took that light and made it ethereal, just like he was. The demon hadn’t seen him in about seventy years and had temporarily forgotten how the sight of that face created a flutter in his heart every single time.

Suddenly, a stray flame burst outward, making almost everyone in the crowd take a step back. Everyone except for Aziraphale.

It was then that Crowley’s insides went from tight and warm to clenching with cold fear. Was this going to be like Alexandria? Was the angel going to try something foolish like rushing into the flames to save however many of the precious tomes that he could?

Crowley ground his jaw. The last time they were face to face, he had told Aziraphale that he didn’t need him. Anger had made that easy to say, but even while he said it, he knew that he would never ever mean it. Just as he knew that he would risk Hell’s retribution if it meant rescuing Aziraphale from the flames again.

A couple of anxious minutes later, Crowley was finally able to breathe. He recognized the look Aziraphale had gotten on his face and the way that the angel was twisting his fingers together and the ramrod straightness of his posture. He had seen it just before the rains started after Noah had shut the door of the ark and while the Roman soldiers hammered nails into the Divine Son’s wrists.

Aziraphale was not going to interfere. Not even while his heart broke and a piece of his soul crumbled away. He would not act.

In some ways, Crowley hated this even more. That look of defeat and despair in the angel’s eyes would haunt his dreams again for a long time.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Crowley got a glimpse of a sight he never wanted to see for all eternity.

He saw Aziraphale crying.

It wasn’t much, just a couple of tears sliding down an impassive face. Well, impassive apart from the eyes. There were more than tears in them. There was also sadness, vast and bleak, that was just below the surface of those tears.

Crowley felt his own throat tighten, his breaths shortening. No, Aziraphale wasn’t going to intervene. He was going to do that silent mourning he always did when Heaven’s commands prevented him from acting on what the love inside him burned to do.

The fire flickered wildly again as more books were added, throwing sparks of ash into the sky. As the red pinpricks of light floated back down, Crowley felt his heart being crushed by his long-held fears.

The look on Aziraphale’s face had changed again. There were still tears, but they had slowed and were rapidly drying in response to the new emotion that was stirring to life: determination. Righteous and unmovable determination.

Crowley stared as the last tear wobbled off the edge of Aziraphale’s chin and the angel’s lips pressed into an angry pink line. The Nazis now had an angel with renewed fervor as their enemy. An angel who was clever and resolute and patient, oh such a deliberate, deadly patience that should be expected from the one who was entrusted to guard Her creation.

Crowley felt his stomach quake although it wasn’t entire from fear anymore. A sliver of that was admiration for the steel that was at the core of the angel’s being. Still, Hell was entirely too fond of the Nazi regime to allow one meddlesome angel to make too much of a dent into it. At some point, Aziraphale was going to attract the wrong sort of attention. Be it from Hell’s agents directly or from the humans serving their cause.

Crowley allowed himself one last lingering gaze before slinking away down a side alley. He would continue the work he was doing for Hell and for various spy networks in Europe, but now he had added a new item on his to do list: keep tabs on one seemingly innocuous bookseller in Soho.

* * *

“I am sorry.”

Back in their hotel room, Crowley blinked hard, his expression puzzled over the nearly whispered words.

“Sorry? About what?”

“I know that our…disagreement was the reason why you didn’t approach me that night,” Aziraphale explained. “The things I had said to you back then…I cannot blame you at all for choosing to….”

“Forget it,” Crowley replied with a wave of his hand. “You already apologized for that. More than once. This isn’t Heaven, angel. I don’t require any penance from you.”

Crowley poured himself another glass of wine and then walked back over to Aziraphale while still on his knees. He held up the bottle toward the angel.

“Besides, I wasn’t ready to talk to you for reasons of my own. Had some things I needed to sort out. And it’s just as well that we weren’t seen together. Made it a lot easier for me to keep an eye on you without raising any suspicions.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, dearest.” He reached for the bottle, but took it and Crowley’s hand in one swoop. He sat the bottle onto the side table and then pressed Crowley’s fingers to his lips.

Crowley’s face turned red, but he still managed an answering smile of his own while Aziraphale kissed his fingers. Once the angel had finished, he rose up on his knees again, cupping Aziraphale’s face with his hands.

“You want to know what I see in you? How about this right here? How about the fact that you don’t love the humans just because you’re supposed to? You love them because of what they are. You love their books. You love the history they create for themselves and the future they’re trying to build. You love their imaginations and their voices.”

Crowley let his fingers roam along the sides of Aziraphale’s face. “You think Gabriel and his lot do that? They only love on command. You love them just because.”

Aziraphale slid down from his chair to join Crowley on the floor. Once he was there, Crowley drew him closer and kissed him. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel a smile on his angel’s lips until they parted to return the kiss.

Then the hands moved down, sliding along the curves in Aziraphale’s torso and then moving to the angel’s back while his arms snaked around Aziraphale’s waist. Aziraphale responded by embracing him back and tilting his head to plant a kiss near Crowley’s eye.

“It’s funny, but I was thinking something very similar about you, my dear. About how much you love these humans.”

Crowley snorted. “Sure I love them. That’s why I invented stuff like the horror of the M25, game shows, and chain letters.”

“You always give them a choice. No other demon would care so much about making sure that evil always remained an option and not an oppressive force.”

Crowley rested his head onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, frowning. This was something he continued to struggle with over this past year: Aziraphale’s desire to praise him. That unwavering faith the angel had that he was good despite goodness being the antithesis to the nature of demons. Aziraphale could probably spend another six thousand years praising him, and it would still feel as surprising and unsettling as it did the first time Crowley heard it.

Aziraphale pulled back, and Crowley was disappointed to see the somber look return to the angel’s face.

“I know you might be sick of me saying this, but I am sorry. I know I’ve upset you with my passion for books. And the close calls I’ve had because of them.”

Crowley gave him a lopsided smile. “I’ve gotten used to it. Although…you still owe me for Beijing. That bit back in 1966, remember?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said, his expression becoming even more forlorn. “How could I forget the Cultural Revolution?”

“How could anyone?” Crowley said. “Beelzebub still swears that it was your lot behind that one.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. “The nerve. How in Hell’s name could they possibly think…?”

“Oh come on, angel. All that insistence on blind obedience to authority and destruction to any hint of subversive ideas….reminds me a lot of the Heaven I remember. If you ask me, it sounds like one of Gabriel’s pet projects gone wrong.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “He never said anything to me about it. But then again, I don’t suppose he would have, would he?”

Crowley noted the anxious look in Aziraphale’s eyes and was instantly wary of the direction that thought could take in the angel’s mind.

“Anyway, do you have any idea how difficult it is to distract the entire security force of a major airport from a British tourist who was trying to smuggle two trunks full of scrolls?”

“They were going to burn them, Crowley. Some of those scrolls were hundreds of years old. They were priceless treasures of art and the written word, treasures that could never be replaced. I wasn’t smuggling them…I was just…holding them for safekeeping. I was going to make sure that they were returned to China as soon as I could be certain that they would be kept safely as national treasures.”

“Yeah well, Mao’s soldiers didn’t see it like that. And I still don’t know how I was able to convince Beelzebub that rescuing you was part of a plot to infiltrate the government.”

Aziraphale heaved out a large sigh. “Oh I know I should have been careful and that I should be grateful to you. And I am. You’ve always looked after me, dearest, and I can’t describe how that makes me feel. But…I still wish there had been some way that we could have saved those scrolls. They were probably thrown into a fire the same day we left.”

Crowley was about to respond with a snarky reply about the difficulties involved with convincing an airplane pilot to land in an entirely different continent from their original destination when he saw the shine of tears in his angel’s eyes again.

He let go of Aziraphale and got to his feet. Aziraphale watched him, but did not move from where he was sitting.

“Was going to save this for when we get to Rome,” Crowley said as he sauntered into the walk-in closet in the room. “But I might as well give it to you now.”

When he emerged, he was carrying a large wooden box. It was painted various shades of red on the sides with jet-black edges and gold accents. Snake designs were carved onto every surface. The box looked old. At least a couple of hundred years old.

Crowley sat the box down onto the floor right in front of Aziraphale and then plopped down to sit next to him.

“What is it?” Aziraphale asked, running his fingers along the snake coils decorating the lid.

“A wedding present,” Crowley answered. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Oh Crowley, how very kind. You….”

“Yeah, yeah, just open it, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded and lifted the lid. He sat it down beside the box and peered inside. When he finally did look back up, the angel’s eyes were bulging with shock.

“Crowley, I….” He reached down inside and gingerly lifted out a scroll. “I thought these were all destroyed at Alexandria.”

“Most of them were,” Crowley said with a shrug. “I was only able to save a couple of them before I found you.”

Aziraphale sat the scroll back inside and then lifted out a book.

“And this? Why…this…this is from Germany…that night in Berlin, you….”

“Yeah, I snatched it from the pile of books when the Nazis weren’t looking. I was able to grab a couple more too that are toward the bottom.”

Aziraphale continued to sort through the contents of the box, finding scrolls, papers, and books that had been slated to be destroyed at book burning events throughout history. Even a copy of Faust from the school that had burned that night.

“I, er, I wasn’t able to save a lot,” Crowley said. “Just one or two books here and there. I thought…I guess I thought that you’d feel a little better knowing that at least a little of it had been saved.”

Aziraphale looked up from the box. His eyes were sparkling with tears again, but these were not the melancholic tears from before.

“You did this for me?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “For centuries you…all those times when they burned their books…you saved these ones for me?”

“Ngk…w-well, not just for you,” Crowley said, his cheeks burning. “I mean, it was also kind of evil, right? Defying all those people who wanted to destroy them? I bet they’d be really upset if they knew that I had….”

Crowley didn’t have a chance to finish that sentence. He was too busy contending with an angel who had shuffled over to him for a fierce embrace that was punctuated with a series of kisses all over his face.

“Crowley, dearest, I, I….” Aziraphale said, his voice wobbling. “How can I ever thank you enough?”

Crowley laughed. “You’re doing a pretty good job of it right now, angel.”

Aziraphale pulled back to face him, and Crowley saw that the angel was literally glowing with happiness and love, his halo much more visible than usual.

“If only words could express how much I love you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, a hiccup in his voice. “I think I shall keep trying to find them even if it takes eternity to do so.”

Then Aziraphale leaned in for another kiss, this one much more passionate than the hurried, splutters of affection he had just showered onto Crowley. The demon melted into that kiss, shocked and yet pleased that the waves of divinity and love radiating from Aziraphale weren’t discorporating him.

All too soon, the moment was over, and Aziraphale released him. Crowley was about to recommend moving to the bed to continue things when he opened his eyes and let his face fall in dismay.

“Now, the first thing I need to do is make a list of what’s been stored here,” Aziraphale said, putting on his glasses. “Then I’ll need to transcribe the books that have only this one copy into files so that they can be shared with other humans for academic study. Oh, won’t it be wonderful to have these works back into the archives again?”

Crowley sighed. He could try to protest, but he already knew what was going to happen. Aziraphale was going to spend the rest of the night looking through these books. And probably most of the next two days as well.

He chuckled and leaned against the angel. It was ok. There was plenty more honeymoon to come. Aziraphale deserved to have this. And besides, he was confident that the angel would find plenty of ways to thank him for this gift.

For now, Crowley was more than happy to enjoy the gift he had gotten in return: the glorious smile of an angel who would always look at him with eyes that did not see him as evil and unredeemable. Or only as a demon.

Those eyes would see him as beloved, wholly and for eternity.


End file.
